Broken Cadence
by ruth baulding
Summary: The seventh time Anakin saves his master's life. Or sixth, if you ask Obi Wan.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

The folds of Darth Sidious' cloak were a black waterfall concealing a face with no mercy left in it. A face scoured and cleaned of all pity, all weakness, by the harsh medicinal stringency of the Dark. Under the hood, which cast the illusion of a bottomless well of shadows, there gleamed two burning coals. Eyes, the ignorant world might call them. But Yan Dooku, hereditary Count of Serreno, former Jedi, knew better. They were windows into the hells.

His master's eyes frightened him. Indeed, they were the only thing left in this cold galaxy which _could _frighten him. His master's soul looked out of an eternity of fire – and he wondered if this were his fate, too. For with age came wisdom, and he knew that the Dark was not the soft caress of night. It was light without radiance. It was pure, tormenting heat, burning from within. And this was what he had taken as his master. That was the difference between Sidious and himself. Dooku was still slave to the dark, its terror-stricken servant. Sidious had ascended. He was no prisoner of the hells; he was their ruler. He looked out of their bottomless pits with the eyes of a king. Nay, an emperor.

When Dooku had grown in power…just a little more….then he would depose Sidious and take up the throne himself. And he, alone in the universe, would not fear the Dark. For it would be his dominion. But that time was not yet. Dooku was aging….but his ambition was still in the springtime of its youth. He had time yet. And so he knelt before the figure in the holo-transmission.

"This…information, my lord. Is it reliable?"

A wildly impertinent question. But his spy networks were better than anything the galaxy had yet seen, and yet he had heard not a whisper of this news. "As reliable as death," Sidious sneered down at him. "Only the Jedi Council and the Supreme Chancellor know of it. And, of course, me."

"Yes, my lord." Chastened, Dooku kept his eyes fixed to the floor. He felt the burning eyes of his master bore into the top of his bowed, white-haired head.

"I want you to capture him – I care not how. Take him alive, and then _break _him."

"I understand, master. May I ask….why?" He boldly raised his face upward.

But those eyes, those terrible windows into the realms of eternal fire, forbade further questions. Dooku dropped his gaze again. His was to do, not to know. Envy spoke in his breast: clawing, bitter envy. It had something to do with Skywalker, that curdled cot of cur's blood that the Jedi so fondly cherished as their savior. He could feel Sidious' tendrils of fascination with the boy, unfurling like hungry tentacles. This was some new ploy to unbalance the idol, to topple it into oblivion alongside Dooku and all the others who had plummeted from the Temple's high and holy walls. It should have made Dooku smile – but instead he found his brows contracted in a bitter scowl.

"You may think of it as revenge," the Lord said, patronizingly, to his apprentice.

Dooku bowed his submission. Everything, all existence, in some way reduced to revenge. His every choice was an act of revenge – revenge upon the Force for burdening him with its secrets, for inflicting existence upon him. If Sidious wished this to be focused on a particular man for a short while….why then, "So be it," he said solemnly.

* * *

><p>Ahsoka Tano snapped out of her meditative trance, screaming.<p>

Hands clutched tight against her luridly striped headtails, the young Togruta toppled over backward onto the floor and writhed, panting for breath. _Oh no, oh no…_

She struggled onto hands and knees, and then feet, clutching at the wall of her small, bare chamber in the Jedi Temple. Her breaths came fast and short as she wrestled the gut-wrenching, soul-flaying panic and terror down, down, into some part of her imagination and memory far, far away from this place and time. _Stop, stop, oh please stop…_ Dizzy, she managed to drag her own mind out of the morass. _I'm Ahsoka. Not Skyguy. That's not my panic. That's his. Not mine. His._

She regained some semblance of calm. Her muscles were shaking. Stars, she hated it when he did that! It was bad enough when they were both alert, on a mission together. But when she was completely _open_ like that – in a meditation? It wasn't fair. She was his Padawan, and Force bonded to him in a way that no other shared. Well, maybe no other besides Master Kenobi, Anakin's own teacher. Had he suffered the way she did? One nightmare on Skyguy's part could send a blazing supernova of energy through the Force, ripping apart anyone whose spirit strayed too close. And this one….she rubbed at her solar plexus, gritting her small pointed teeth. Please let that have been a nightmare, and not a Force-inspired vision. Whatever it was, it was _bad._

The door to her room slid open. "Snips?"

And there he was, silhouetted against the sun-drenched window of the corridor beyond. Light beamed in around him, setting the ends of his disheveled hair alight, revealing dust motes dancing in the air between them. He was _shaking._ Ahsoka swallowed and stood upright, too afraid to ask.

"Master. Are you….all right?"

He didn't hear the question. "I have to go."

"Where?" she demanded. His hand was on his saber hilt. His face was drawn into wrathful, fearful, lines. The Force rippled around him, frantic striations of light and heat and power. She had to squint. Her temples pounded.

"I – I don't know," he snapped, impatient. "Just…tell Master Yoda."

"What?" She was across the room in a flash, over the threshold, yelling down the hushed corridor at him as he fled, at a full out run, for the lift to the hangar bay level. "Master!" She couldn't just tell Master Yoda that he had _run away_, who knew where, who knew why…."Master!" But Anakin didn't respond. He practically threw himself into the lift, slammed a fist against the door control, and was gone.

"_Chiszk,"_ she cursed.

* * *

><p>Dooku was furious. Jaw clamped tight, he examined the wound on his thigh, the other one on his arm. The fibers of his Chandrian silk tunic sent up a trail of incense where the burning blade had caught and flayed through them. His body sent up agonized pleas of pain, which he ignored, sousing them with a lifetime of cold discipline. He couldn't even walk properly. The slash in his leg carved a broad curving line of fire from kneecap to groin – superficial, perhaps, but incredibly painful. Awful, animal anger howled in his chest. He fingered the elegant hilt of his own weapon, longing to flick its switch and unleash the red blade. Longing to drive that line of ruby fire right through his opponent's heart. Stars…he should have done that the first time he had the chance, in the cave on Geonosis.<p>

Instead, he recalled his lord and master's words. "Take him alive, and then _break_ him." Thin lips curling in disgust, Dooku replaced his saber hilt at his side, and extended a hand, summoning his foe's weapon into his hand. The hilt smacked into his palm with a solid thud, and his fingers closed around it, squeezing tight as though to throttle the life out of it, in lieu of its owner. He tucked the vile thing which had wounded him into his sash, then casually dug one tall well-tailored boot under his enemy's limp, prone form and turned him onto his back.

"You are going to _regret _this encounter, my young friend," he told the unconscious Jedi. At a snap of his fingers, two magna-droids moved forward to drag the prize off toward his ship. He watched their ungainly progress up the boarding ramp, and then slowly, limpingly followed behind, mouth set in a tight line of fury.

The first part of his objective was achieved.

* * *

><p>Artoo continued to string insults and demands and questions and then more insults at him, all the way through the atmosphere and into the hyperspace booster ring.<p>

"Shut up, Artoo. Override the security codes for this thing and get us out of here."

The droid's next remark was so colorful that even Anakin blushed. He regretted having stripped his adored navigator of all protocol restraints. Artoo was becoming a monster…but he didn't have time to worry about it. "I don't know _where!" _he hollered, blind fury seizing him, His robotic fist slammed against the canopy.

Silence. Ironic silence, from the droid. Silence, from the soundless vacuum of space all around him. Silence, from the Force. Silence from Obi Wan. Not a peep, not a flash of humor, a sliver of an image, nothing. Just that annihilating dream-vision-feeling twenty minutes ago…and then blank silence. He could always sense Obi Wan, if he wanted to. Halfway across the galaxy, he could sense him. Could almost hear his voice sometimes. And now…nothing. And that dreadful certainty, like a drum pounding in his blood, that his former master was in terrible, terrible trouble. He had to go, he had to go now, right now….

But where?

He had no idea where the Council had sent Obi Wan. Nobody knew. It was a clandestine mission. The Chancellor knew. Yoda knew. But he, Anakin, wasn't worthy to know. New rage joined the anger born of fear. Why didn't they trust him? How could he save Obi Wan if they didn't trust him enough to tell him _anything_ important?

The droid bleeped something at him. The hyperdrive ring was ready, the security codes easily hacked. All they needed were coordinates.

Focus, Anakin, focus. Use the Force. Think. He steadied his breath and heartbeat. He had to do this….he had to. There was no emotion. There was serenity. No emotion. Peace. The Force. Reach into it….

A fleeting image, tinged in ethereal light. Obi Wan's image. His presence. _Pain. Not good. Where was his saber? His hands….were bound. Tightly. No saber, then. Thrumming underneath him, dimness all round. A ship – a hard deck. The durasteel toe-piece of a magna guard, about a meter from his face. The butt end of its electrostaff, resting on the floor beside it. _The image faded, into a confused darkness.

Anakin opened his eyes. Think. Think. That was a Separatist ship. His master was prisoner on a Separatist ship. That could be anywhere in the galaxy. "Artoo," he ordered, suddenly able once again to act, to make decisions. "Plot a course for Admiral Yularen's flagship. Wherever it is." He would start with some reinforcements. And he would end by rescuing his master. It was just the parts in the middle that weren't so clear to him. But he would get there. He would. Just wait until he did.

The ring fired its drives, and in an instant, the ship and its two occupants had disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

Dooku folded his hands behind his back and gazed through the pulsing energy barrier at his captive. The younger Jedi was kneeling in meditation posture, cuffed hands still bound behind his back, but eyes closed and face serene as though he were contemplating a tranquil Chandrilan sea. The posture exuded a quiet disdain for the whole situation, a kind of smug aloofness from personal danger. It was, oddly enough, or perhaps not so oddly enough, reminiscent of Qui Gon Jinn, Dooku's own former apprentice.

An elite magna-guard was posted on duty inside the cell – Dooku was no fool, at almost ninety years of age. It mumbled something in its garbled electronic dialect, flat optic plates gleaming at him in eagerness. Dooku waved two arresting fingers at it. No need to disturb the Jedi at his meditations. That would be so uncivilized, after all.

His thoughts wandered back to Qui Gon. If one were to trace lineages, in a rather sentimental fashion, the Jedi on the other side of this thin energy barrier could be considered Dooku's progeny, one generation removed. How ironic. He had been assigned to break the spirit of his own metaphysical offspring. It was fortunate that Dooku did not put any stock in such trivial connections. He intended to carry out his commission with thorough zeal.

The confrontation preceding Kenobi's capture had settled Dooku's mind in that regard. Things had not played out as easily as one might expect. Somehow or another, despite Dooku's best mental shielding and the fact that he was accompanied only by droids – no sentients which might leave a trace in the Force – Kenobi had sensed his approach and run to ground with his elite squadron of clone troops. Dooku had left the murderous automated help to deal with the clones, closing in on the Jedi master himself. A rather tedious game of hide and seek had ensued, one which finally ended in an abandoned munitions factory on the Separatist controlled world.

Dooku had saluted the cornered Jedi with his saber. "You appear to have been _betrayed,_ my friend," he had sneered. It was a pleasure to see the shock and disbelief on Kenobi's face, even if they were quickly masked by scorn.

And then the fight began. Dooku had expected an easy victory – after all, a short two years ago he had left the man burned and bleeding on the floor of that Geonosian cave, after teaching him a well-deserved lesson about old age and treachery. But imagine his surprise when Kenobi matched him stroke for stroke in his beloved Form II – as though the Jedi had spent painstaking years teaching himself the intricacies of the old saber style. Astounding. Not only that, but the two years of warfare seemed to have aged him at least two decades, in terms of his Force mastery. Dooku found himself battling not a young knight full of bright potential, but a true and veritable master in full confident possession of rather extraordinary skills.

For a while it had been almost….delightful. Dooku had to agree with Yoda's assessment. Kenobi was a swordsman worthy of the title, worthy to cross blades with Dooku. Their battle waged on and on, scarring ceiling, floor, walls, leaving the close air ringing with the hot effluvia of the plasma blades, their shrilling hum. Dooku could feel the endless invisible power flow through his opponent, like a river in full flood. Stars, Kenobi was so deep in the Force he was practically _drunk_ with it. His feral grin bespoke a kind of cold ecstasy that very few in the universe could ever taste.

And then the impossible happened. The blue blade swept around, down, feinted, blocked, slipped past Dooku's guard and grazed his arm in a searing blow. A cry escaped the old man's lips. And then – eyes glittering with satisfaction, with joy – Kenobi followed up the first blow with a brilliant, blinding second strike, burning a shallow but agonizing gash along Dooku's thigh, from knee to groin.

The gesture was not wasted. Those were close enough to the exact scars Dooku had left upon the younger man's body on Geonosis. Tit for tat. The explosion of rage in the Dark Side had been too powerful to contain. His promise to Sidious temporarily forgotten, he had unleashed the Sith's ancient lightning upon his foe. The blue fire had blasted the lightsaber clean out of Kenobi's hand, sent him tumbling backward. He made a miraculous recovery, twisting out of a corkscrew backflip to land on his feet, only a trifle off balance. Unrelenting, Dooku channeled his pain and hate through his hands again, sending the second and fatal blast straight at his enemy's heart. Face contorted with desperate effort, unthinking vital instinct, Kenobi had flung up his hands..and deflected it.

Utterly impossible. For one terrible heartbeat Dooku knew himself to be defeated. It was as though he faced the specter of Yoda again, implacable, monstrous in his consuming Light. His eyes widened in horror – at the same moment that Kenobi's widened in surprise. Surprise that he had succeeded. Disbelief that he was doing this impossible thing. Doubt, that he was somehow worthy to wield such power. And of course his concentration shattered, or the Force betrayed him – however you wished to see it - and the blue lightning spattered against the walls, rebounded into his body, sent him sprawling, unconscious, across the stone floor.

Dooku had won. But not because of his superior skill. Rather, and only, because his opponent was even yet too inexperienced and humble to really plumb the depths of what the Force offered. It had been a near thing, leaving an odd, empty feeling in its wake…making him wonder how this would have ended had it been _Skywalker_ against whom he had faced off. He suddenly felt his age.

His lip twisted, and he waved his hand at the magna-guard again, giving it permission to have a little fun. Then he walked away.

* * *

><p>"General Skywalker, I have received absolutely no instructions or commission regarding this …quest..of yours, and I have no intention of releasing any of my troops to you without that authorization."<p>

Admiral Yularen stood stiff-backed, watching the upstart Jedi fume like a volcano about to erupt. Let it erupt. Yularen was _lord_ on this ship, absolute monarch of the fleet in this sector. It was time Skywalker came to appreciate the implications of that power.

As though on cue, a transmission signal came through on the comm. display – alpha priority from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The Admiral warily nodded his permission to the comm. officer, and the blue image sprang to life above the projector plate.

"General Windu, General Yoda," Yularen greeted the two shimmering figures who appeared on his bridge.

"Looking for General Skywalker, we are," the impish Yoda informed him, ears twitching.

Skywalker stepped into the camera's range. "I'm here, masters," he said, chin high and defiant, voice holding not one jot of trepidation.

Mace Windu glowered down at him, his dark eyes looking like a hurricane on Kamino. "What do you think you are doing, Skywalker?" he growled, obviously unconcerned as to whom might be listening.

But the brash young Jedi was not to be cowed. "I'm looking for Obi Wan," he growled back. "He's in trouble."

The tiny form of Yoda glanced up in alarm at the towering figure of Windu, who continued to scowl down upon his wayward subordinate. "We haven't heard from him in twelve standard hours. That implies difficulty, but not necessarily an emergency."

Skywalker bristled. Yularen raised an eyebrow as the robotic fist clenched into a tight knot. He would not tolerate such a display in one of his officers. "I _felt_ him, masters. I'm about five hundred parsecs ahead of you, so you'd better leave me to it."

"Know where he is, you do not," Yoda warned.

"I'll find him."

"His mission is _not _your concern," Windu rumbled.

"_He _is my concern," Skywalker corrected, anger licking the edges of his voice. Yularen drew in a sharp disapproving breath. He could see every one of his bridge crew listening to the exchange with expressionless faces.

"Return to the Temple, you will, youngling." That was Yoda speaking – and the wrinkled old visage had never, in all Yularen's experience, looked so terrifyingly displeased.

Skywalker stared, chest heaving, while the Admiral counted to five. Then, trembling, the young Knight made a curt bow. "Yes, master," he spat between clenched teeth. Yoda disappeared, in a flicker of blue light. The vast flagship's bridge was unnaturally silent.

"Will you require refueling for your return journey, General?" Yularen asked, in his most professionally detached tone.

Skywalker's eyes met his. They were burning with emotion. "I said I would return to the Temple, Admiral," he muttered. "But not _when."_

The Admiral raised one salt and pepper eyebrow, and shrugged. The Jedi were not under his jurisdiction, nor he theirs. This was not his concern. "Very well, General. You are welcome as a guest aboard this ship. Do be warned that we are on standby for a critical sector-wide campaign."

The young Jedi nodded, almost civilly. He perhaps thought that Yularen was his ally in this hare-brained scheme of his. "Thank you, Admiral," he said.

* * *

><p>It took four well-armed and uninhibited droids to escort the prisoner to the detention block Dooku had selected. The droid he had left in the ship's holding cell had been discovered scrapped, its head and body laying in separate smoking corners of the cramped space, its electrostaff buried deep in its own chestplate.<p>

"Most impressive," Dooku had drawled to his captive, noting that the binders securing Kenobi's wrists behind his back were still in place. The feat did suggest a level of…agility..which was admirable, even enviable. He made mental note to take extra precautions with the more permanent arrangements. He might be a rich man, but the special elite droids were rather expensive, and he did not relish the smirking Nemoidians' remarks when he ordered replacement units.

Naturally, the Jedi had guessed that he was not in _immediate_ danger of death, and therefore felt free to indulge in the most unseemly display of sarcasm and impudence Dooku had ever heard from a member of his former Order - with the exception of the brat Skywalker, of course. He would _never _have tolerated such vile insolence from one of his Padawans; and he was disappointed to reflect that dear Qui Gon had clearly neglected to instill any kind of self-discipline into his sharp-tongued protégé.

"You do know why you are here," he said conversationally, making a quick circuit of the containment field's beam, to be sure there were no discrepancies in the grav-generator.

Kenobi craned his head over one shoulder, with difficulty. "Something I said, perhaps?…I understand such misunderstandings are wont to occur when one's interlocutor is growing hard of hearing."

The Count made an adjustment to the differentiator, yanking the wrist binders to a height of two and a half meters from the ankle cuffs. Given Kenobi's middling stature, this constituted a painful stretch. Dooku could almost hear the man's spine crack. "I assure you, I am in full possession of _all _my faculties," he assured his guest.

"Ah…," The Jedi replied, a smug smile still tugging at his mouth. "Then it must have been some other pathetic relic with whom I dueled earlier."

Dooku made another slow circuit around his victim. His as-yet unhealed saber burns flared with sudden pain. "You, my young friend," he chuckled humorlessly, "Were deprived of the benefits of a proper upbringing. In my day, they said _spare the rod and spoil the child._ I feel obliged to fill in that gap in your education."

"Yes," Kenobi grunted, starting perhaps to feel the awkwardness of his position, "In my day they also said _a fool is the best teacher. _I look forward to your superior instruction."

Dooku pivoted about with a contemptuous smile and strode out of the room. Two elite droids were posted just outside the heavy doorframe, leaning on their dully crackling electrostaves. "No food, no water, and drop the temperature twenty degrees," he instructed them coolly. "Oh – and if he dozes off, be sure to….wake him." He waited to receive a confirming burble from the guards, and then proceeded upstairs, where a comfortable bedchamber awaited him. It had been a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

Anakin found peace inside the cockpit of his fighter. Secure within the supercruiser's closed docking bays, the lithe ship sat on its magnetic moorings. Within its tiny bubble of piloting space, he was sheltered from the noise and bustle of the larger ship, from the intruding minds of the thousand or so people it took to man the vast war vessel, from the distracting lure of machinery and holo-displays that promised help, but had none to really offer. Here, in his private sanctuary, he could sit completely still and yet wander the galaxy in spirit. He could do that, sometimes. He had never told anyone. It scared him.

But his fear for Obi Wan outstripped even his fear of himself and his untapped power. His maddening urge to move, fast, to get there before it was too late, outstripped even his raw anger at the Council for forbidding him to go. Legs drawn up under him – a contortionists' trick in the tight space – he unfurled his mind into the Force.

Come on, master. Show me something. Anything. Just a little detail. Where are you now? There was nothing – nothing for so long that he began to despair. And despair brought a memory of hot wind, of Tusken blood and screams, of searing heat – anger, the scourging suns, his glowing, murdering blade….No! That was not to be remembered…and it was wrong, anyhow. Intuition flickered. Not hot. Cold. His awareness caught a familiar flicker of dry humor, wafting on the Force. Master, there you are. Show me. Show me…

_It was cold…so blasted cold. It was like Ord Plutonia, when they had to muffle themselves in parkas and thermal gear, where sitting down literally meant a painfully frozen backside. Well, no. It wasn't that cold. This was Tatooine hot compared to the ice planet. This was a pleasant holiday, like one occasionally took on Hoth…No. Too exhausting for a holiday. Here, one had to work hard: calling on the Force to stave off the pain in one's back and extremities, stave off shivering and hypothermia, stave off hunger, stave off thirst, stave off the need for a refresher – difficult, that – and most of all, stave off sleep…._

The vision flickered, fading to a muzzy blur. No! Stay with me, master. Show me something better than that. Open your eyes…come on!

_Sleep brought the ruthless droids in, wielding their staves. Terrible pain, radiating outward from his solar plexus, convulsing every muscle. The binders pulled backward against him as he arched. That hurt too. A magnaguard's unseeing eyes were thrust too close, making sure he was good and truly awake. The thing withdrew the electrostaff, its edges cracking sharply against the edge of the containment field. It had done its job well. Vision gradually righting itself, the double and triple image restoring itself to one, as the thing lumbered back through the door with its heavy arch of veined stone. …Blast, it was cold._

Anakin drew himself up out of the moment, shaking in sympathy or in anger, he couldn't tell. The Force had allowed him that fleeting glimpse for a reason. What was the thread, the thin path he could follow to the center? Cold? Was it an ice planet, maybe? But no….that had been indoors. It could be underground. It could be inclement weather. Or it could be cold because someone had set the temperature control that way, to torment the prisoner. That was no clue at all. What then? The droid? They were everywhere nowadays. You practically had to check under your bed for battle droids before you went to sleep at night. What? What else? The door. A heavy door. Old. There were cracks in it, worn edges. It was stone, not plastoid, not duracrete. Proper stone, with a strange veining in it. That was all he had. An old stone building made of a particular rock.

Slumping in disappointment, he unfolded his cramped frame and popped the canopy open. Twenty four standard hours, and he had made no other progress. It was this lead or nothing. "Artoo!" he barked, calling the astromech to his aid. "Patch in to the shipboard database. I've got a research project for you."

* * *

><p>Dooku made a point of always appearing impeccably groomed when he made a social call. Hence, he paused before the detention block main entrance and brushed some stray dust off the shoulder of his cape before continuing on his way. It was time he had another chat with his visitor.<p>

The Jedi wasn't in a mood to receive him. "Traitor," he spat as soon as Dooku had crossed the threshold into his cell.

"You continue to throw that epithet in my face, Master Kenobi, when it is the Jedi Order which has betrayed the Republic and thereby the galaxy at large. Indeed, I might point out, it is the Jedi Order which has betrayed _you."_

"Your pardon, Count. I meant to say, _delusional _traitor."

Dooku released a paternalistic sigh. "Alas. If you were to examine your own feelings on the matter, you would find that I am quite right. Nobody knew of your mission except the Jedi Council and the Supreme Chancellor himself. And I promise you, my information came from an infallibly reliable source. Draw the inference, if you please."

A line of …distress?…appeared between Kenobi's eyebrows, and there was a distinct tug of unsettled, anxious dubiety and suspicion in the Force. But it was only a hairline crack. The Jedi smoothed it over again, reasserting calm indifference. "I am being monitored by an infallible intelligence? How flattering," he smirked.

"You would be wise to curb your tongue," Dooku advised. "Even my patience has its limits." He continued his assessing prowl, his boots padding gently against the flagstones. "Do you doubt my words? I have already told you that the Senate no longer belongs to the people. You fight for a Republic which is corrupted from within."

Oh, he had touched a nerve there. Kenobi was far too shrewd not to entertain suspicions of his own – unformed, nebulous suppositions which he might never consciously examine. But they were there, more weak spots in the seemingly impenetrable armor. Dooku knew of another – one which had surprised him when he first discovered it.

"Really," he continued blandly, "I am surprised Master Jinn never discussed the matter with you. He understood its implications very well indeed. I made sure of that during his time as my apprentice. I wonder….but then, he must have deemed you too immature to be trusted with such an insight." He smiled tightly, standing directly behind the Jedi. He could see every muscle in the already over-stretched back tense with resentment…and then slowly relax. An exact hit.

"What do you want from me, Dooku?" Kenobi demanded, gutturally.

The Count leisurely paced round to the front again, so he could see the Jedi's face. "From you?" He sighed, and slowly shook his silver head. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He bared his teeth, wicked enjoyment melting his usually cold mien. "On the contrary. I have something to give you."

He didn't elaborate. It was so much better that way. Let the fool wear himself out trying to understand the web in which he was so neatly caught. That would only make Dooku's task easier. The guards flanking the doorway saluted him as he passed back through the energy barrier. "Same instructions," the count commanded. "And reduce oxygen flow to the cell..say, twenty five percent."

The magna-guard bowed and swiveled to punch the order into the control panel. Dooku went upstairs for his morning tea.

* * *

><p>R2D2 let loose a screeching whistle of triumph. He was so smart. Way smarter than R4, way smarter than R6, way, way smarter than C3P0. He was the smartest droid in the entire Republic army. Handsomest, too.<p>

Withdrawing his interface extension from the socket in the ship's console, he hummed a little goodbye tune to the onboard computer. She liked him. He was sure of it. But duty called right now. He had exciting news for his master.

Rolling smoothly along on three legs, he rounded a corner and nearly collided with a contingent of grey-uniformed naval staff, heading on the opposite direction. _Outta my way, bantha-faces, _he tooted. The men cursed something at him in turn, and kept going. R2 kept going, too. Master would still be in the ship, in the hangar bay. He scooted into an elevator headed for the bridge and overrode the controls, sending himself hurtling in the opposite direction. When he rolled out into the starboard hangar bay, he shrilled a loud greeting.

"Artoo!" The young Jedi was perched on top of the ship now, making adjustments to the stabilizers. Ridiculous humanoid, R2 grunted to himself. The stabilizers were perfect. Master just did that when he was nervy. Ridiculous humanoid. Should just shut down his nerves when they over-loaded. R2 made a memory note to fix the stabilizers when Master wasn't looking. "Did you find something?"

R2 pirouetted and bleeped his affirmative. _Of course I do. It's me, remember?_

The Jedi stood up and pointed to the droid socket in the starfighter's wing. "Well, come on. Show me what you found."

It took a quick blast of booster rockets to fly up into the socket and settle in. _Hello beautiful, _R2 said to the fighter. It warmed to him immediately, every system coming online as he snugged himslef down and locked in. _Ahhhhh…._ Suddenly his physical body was much bigger and more powerful than it had been. He had _weapons. _R2 loved flying. He loved it, he loved it, he loved it. He was the best pilot in the Republic army, too. He was also the best mechanic. They had given him an official commendation, all those years ago, on Naboo. C3P0 had never been publicly commended for his translation skills.

"Well?" Anakin demanded, snugging himself down in the cockpit and flipping on the display screens.

R2 downloaded the stored data and presented it in a blinding flash to Master. The Jedi could keep up with him, even though he was only human. R2 enjoyed working with Master. He was almost like a droid sometimes. They made a good team. And you had to admit they cut a dashing figure together. Handsome devils. The little astromech waited while the Jedi perused the information, letting it soak into his processors, letting his analysis circuits bring all the connections together….

"So this particular ore is cut only from three planets in the Selemos sector. And only imported to a handful of other worlds," Anakin mused. "But that's all Sep controlled territory. He could be _anywhere _in that region, Artoo. We're talking about a dozen different systems, spread over a wide area." He sighed, fingers drumming against the console. "But it's a good start, buddy. Well done."

_What next? _R2 queried, hoping that it would involve flying.

"Who's out there in Selemos quadrant three? Don't we have a Republic outpost?"

R2 consulted his interior databanks. Master never erased them – ever. He blurped in disgust. _Nothing but an Ag-Corp station. Seps haven't ousted them yet – but it's still officially under occupation._

"Lock in coordinates and prime the hyperdrive ring," Master ordered, hitting his stride. A thin lead and a shaky destination were fine by him, as long as he was actually _doing _something. Artoo couldn't agree more. He rolled the fighter in a tight loop as they slid past the maglev barrier and up into space. _Yipeee, we're on our way! _he sang out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>4.<strong>

The stars burned cold in the thin atmosphere. A stark, beautiful world, Dooku reflected. But too cold in the evenings at this time of year. He decided to take his postprandial stroll indoors instead. Of course, his meandering path eventually brought him down to the detention level again. He was met with a most gratifying ripple of discomfort, one which edged the Force with a lovely crimson blur of pain. Suffering was part of the universe's stark beauty. If only there were more enlightened souls to savor that truth.

He entered the cell just as the magna-guards finished waking up the prisoner again.

"Now, now," the Count gently chided, "Nodding off like that is so ill-mannered." He left the energy barrier open, to allow a little airflow into the room. The air was startlingly cold, but thin, and stale. Barely breathable.

Kenobi drew in a deep breath, sucking in lungfuls of the fresh sweet air with palpable relief. He looked much more docile this evening. Pale, chest heaving for want of oxygen, perspiration beading on his face, limbs shaking from the prolonged deprivation. Even a Jedi couldn't hold out against slow suffocation forever. Not to mention cold and starvation.

"Traitor," the Jedi sneered at him. It was a ritual now, a formal salute before a duel.

"You insolent wretch," Dooku replied amiably, drawing his cape's folds about his shoulders, as a safeguard against the chill. "I wonder – how long before the Council misses you? It's been forty eight hours since we ran across each other. I imagine a search and rescue operation is under way. Whom do you suppose they might send. Not young Skywalker, by any chance?"

"If they do, Dooku, you had better enjoy your last moments."

The Count chuckled dryly. "How touching. But if I recall aright, your upstart Padawan has never had much success in carrying out that particular ambition. What shall I take of his this time? Another arm? His leg? Perhaps his conceited head?" Dooku walked counter-clockwise this time, extending a probe through the Force, exuding the power of the Dark Side and its suggestive influence. "Or something a bit more subtle. What if I deprive him of his master?"

"Anakin is no longer a Padawan learner. You can't play that sabaac card, Dooku."

Kenobi was so naïve for a man of his reputed experience. Besides, Dooku had felt his heart skip a beat. Not in fear, of course. At least not fear for himself. But he knew, yes he knew, that such a loss might have dreadful consequences for the younger Jedi. The Dark was such an inexorable path for anyone with Skywalker's power. Dooku wondered why the Jedi even bothered trying to hold him back. There was no explanation besides sheer blind affection. And that was an unforgivable flaw.

"I wonder," he mused. "I'm sure you've taught him to count death as nothing. But there are worse forms of defeat."

Now Kenobi was angry. Oh, how easy it was, if one only knew the right spot to press one's attack. The Jedi seemed to blaze in the Force, and he managed to set the periphery of the containment field into a shuddering haze. Then he released the fury, letting it drain away into the cold, thin air, wasting all that potential power like rainwater dribbling into a parched plain. "You won't succeed in _that," _he informed the Count with superb disdainful certainty. "I promise you."

"We shall see," Dooku answered, eyes glittering. "Let us speak of these matters again…in another day. I'm sure you won't mind the wait?"

Kenobi glared at him, pale, shuddering, exhausted. But not broken. Not yet. Dooku turned on his heel and left. He had the advantage of patience.

* * *

><p>Anakin watched the dull brown uniform of the Ag-Corps worker approach him at a light jog. A familiar echo sang out in the Force – a little vague, a little tenuous, but real nonetheless. The woman trotting toward him was a Jedi, of some kind.<p>

She halted a few paces from him, yellow-gold eyes flitting instantly to the lightsaber he wore unconcealed by his side. "Put on a cloak," she commanded. "And bring your ship into the storage barn. There's room." And then she was gone, hurrying away to another one of the outbuildings in the dusty compound. Wrecked greenhouses and staved in roofs marred the once-bustling horticultural institute. Signs of a battle were everywhere. Blaster scars, burned ground, repairs hastily made to cover the effects of a detonation. The Seps had left their mark here and then moved on.

A few minutes later he stood beside his fighter inside the high-roofed warehouse, his cloak draped over his robes, concealing the tell-tale weapon.

"Mina Telluvi," the woman said, bowing to him respectfully. She was forty-ish, wiry, and sun-beaten. "Master…?"

"Skywalker," he supplied. "I'm looking for another Jedi whom I believe is being held captive somewhere in this sector."

She filled her lungs and breathed out. He could feel the sudden collapse of her faint hope. He had not been sent to provide relief. He was only here by accident. "You are welcome. But know that your presence endangers all those here. We are left alone because we are not deemed a threat. And indeed," she added sadly, "We are not one."

Why hadn't the Republic extracted her, and her team? Likely they had refused to go, hoping to still do some good here for the natives. That was the Jedi way. Service above self. He found himself staring at her gnarled fingers, her earth-stained jumpsuit.

"I understand," he assured her. "I'll be on my way as soon as possible. I'll….stay here with the fighter. I need to meditate."

Mina Telluvi nodded, tersely. "I will send a meal to you at the fourth bell. That is our scheduled time for rest. If there is any way I can be of assistance…"

Anakin bowed to her in his turn. "I am grateful," he said, formally.

She peered at him curiously again, the thought writ large on her lined face. _You're too young to be a Knight. You're too young to be snooping around here, behind enemy lines. _But she said nothing, only nodded once more in dismissal and strode out the massive double doors, to return to her hard, hopeless duties_. _

He sank down in the dust, feeling the ambient warmth of the ship's dampers behind him. The dust in this barn was thick with loamy scent, and the compacted earth beneath him was reassuringly solid, real. He was closer now. He might be able to touch Obi Wan's mind again. Breathing out, he sank into the Force, searching…wandering…Yes. There it was again. That same constricting sensation of cold shivered down his spine.

Concentrate. Don't let it slip…be as still and reflective as a deep pool…watch and listen. Learn. Another clue, another thread to follow…

_A weary cycle of days and nights…each one the same as the last…a grey morning of cold, and gnawing hunger, and gasping breaths. He could barely breathe. He could barely feel his numb muscles. His spine ached, and his belly howled. The greyness gradually dimmed to black, a welcome relief like a swift nightfall- and then, sudden sunrise – a burst of pain, a violent jab in the gut, laced with fire. His senses jerked back to morning wakefulness, burning, and then the grey set in again….cold, hunger, slow suffocation, a white mist slowly crawling toward grey and then toward darkness again…_

_This time the sudden wakefulness was not laced with pain. It was sparked by the sound of footsteps. A presence. . Dooku's peculiar stink in the Force. "_Traitor." _His mouth was dry, and the word came out in a grating whisper. __The elegant fingers held a small, ceramic carafe, in which a dark liquid sloshed, tantalizingly. "_Our way is one of compassion," _the old man said ironically. "_I can see you are thirsty." _He offered the drink, holding it up.. It smelled stagnant, like pond sludge. Like akk spit. Like unknown and slightly poisonous chemicals. _"Dehydration is an awful way to perish," _Dooku remarked, casually. "_Don't be a fool."

_He drank._

No, don't do that, Anakin thought desperately. I can't hold it, can't – but the vision had twisted away, in a gut wrenching moment of revulsion. Anakin blinked, gagging and coughing, and opened his eyes. The dust motes lazily ascended their shafts of light, like smoke rising to the barn's roof. He had lost his thread of connection again. A dead end.

"This is not good, Artoo," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. The astromech merely wailed in melancholy agreement.

* * *

><p>Dooku had business to attend to – Banking Clan representatives to soothe, transmissions to send to Geonosis, a few trifling matters of finance and war to oversee. It occupied the greater part of his morning.<p>

One of the droids appeared respectfully behind him, holding a cringing Twi'lek by the scruff of its pathetic, wizened neck. Dooku raised his eyebrows. "Yes, that will do for now," he muttered. "I expect the next one to be younger."

He led the way down to the detention level and gestured for the droid to wait. The old Twi'lek whimpered and clawed futilely at its metallic captor's feet. Terror washed off the ancient fellow like stench off a womprat. Dooku sniffed in distaste. Imagine being reduced to such sniveling incompetence, by the mere passing of years. Stars….he had long since outgrown terror. There was no excuse for such weakness. He unlocked the energy shield and went to check on his other guest.

"_Traitor…"_ Kenobi greeted him. The word was almost a groan, but it still carried that note of absolute vilification. Did the man not know when to admit defeat?

Dooku made his customary circuit around the small room's perimeter. The place was like a refrigeration unit, and the thin air made even Dooku's lungs burn. "I trust you are well this morning," he smiled, extending his senses through the Force. He felt the numb exhaustion, the aching joints and muscles, the bleary thoughts, the pounding – absolutely vicious- headache. And the nausea brought on by the tainted water. All so easy. A creature of flesh and blood – and a Jedi was nothing more than that – could so easily be reduced to misery. Air, warmth, food, water, movement, and sleep. Take away one, discomfort followed. Take away some, and pain ensued. Take away all – as far as possible without actually causing death, and the effect was stunning. Immediate in most cases. In a stubborn being, a while longer. In a stubborn Jedi, it might take many agonizing days. "This is so uncivilized," he reflected, with melancholy. "I regret that matters have come to this pass. However, I've brought you some company."

At a snap of his fingers, the droid hauled in the ancient Twi'Lek and dumped the pathetic, sobbing figure on the floor. The old fellow threw his thin hands over his lekku and cowered on his knees, shaking. The droid had doubtlessly given him a taste of the electrostaff earlier. They were not subtle beings.

The Jedi looked from the prisoner to Dooku and back again, tired mind only slowly realizing the problem. His eyes widened slightly, and fire stirred somewhere behind them. "He won't live…too cold …not enough oxygen."

The Count twisted his lips into a curve. "That is regrettable," he said without a trace of compunction.

"Why?" Kenobi demanded, something like anger quickening in him again. So he wasn't quite as spent as he looked. Amazing, really.

"There is no why," Dooku told him, as he exited the cell, reactivating the barrier. He glanced back at the huddled heap on the floor, and at the Jedi now vainly expending energy he couldn't really afford to use, in an attempt to break free of the restraints and the containment field.


	5. Chapter 5

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>5.<strong>

Anakin gratefully accepted the bowl of simple bean stew which Mina Telluvi placed in his outstretched hands. The Ag-Corps woman was even dustier than she had been that morning. She stood and watched him eat, her faint Force presence setting the barn's wide space alight with a subtle warmth.

"I have a transport you can use," she said, without preamble.

He looked up, startled, swallowing a hot mouthful too quickly and promptly choking as it burned his throat. "A transport?" he wheezed when the coughing had subsided.

Mina nodded her close-cropped head. "Yes. A grain shipper. Stars know we don't have use for it much anymore – we're busy helping the locals survive, much less worrying about a surplus to send to other systems. It's old and slow, but it has security license for standard shipping routes in the sector. You won't get through without that," she added. "Not in your fighter."

"I've got through tighter spots in my fighter," he protested. "And it's a _lot _faster. And better armed."

"I'm sending some of my people with you, too. They're not….as able as you are, Master Skywalker. But they might be of _some _help. I know that many will volunteer. They chafe against inaction…yes, even here in the Ag-Corps."

Anakin felt a smile begin to lighten his heart. Allies. "Uh….I should tell you that my mission is not officially approved by the Jedi Council."

Mina narrowed her gold-colored eyes, and regarded him sideways. He could feel her mind slipping over his inquisitively, feeling him out. He relaxed his mental shields and permitted the woman to do so – resisting her gentle probe would only further her suspicion. _See master? I did learn a few things from you over the years._

Whatever she sensed, it must not have been too bad. "I can't imagine that a rescue mission would truly be disapproved," she said. "And it certainly isn't disapproved by me. And I am in direct command of the Jedi stationed here." Her eyebrows lifted a little, daring him to challenge her authority.

Anakin grinned. _Stick that in your ear, Yoda. _"Let me talk to your people," he said. "I'll accept that offer of a transport."

* * *

><p>"Tallu misanu cur-e," the Jedi was saying to the old man, still huddled in a quaking heap on the floor. "Misanu, misanu."<p>

Dooku leaned closer, peering through the energy barrier. How peculiar. The old Twi'Lek native ought to have been dead by now. The cell was almost frosty, and the oxygen supply had been cut another – quite deadly – ten percent. It had been many hours. The Count's dark eyes glittered dangerously. What was this? He reached through the Force to touch the pathetic creature's mind, and found himself repelled by a golden wall constructed about the Twi'Lek's spirit, a veil of warmth and strength. A swaddling cloth woven of the living Force.

Enough. He deactivated the barrier and stepped through into the blast of cold, feeling the air behind him whip at the hem of his cloak as the lower pressure zone sucked it in. The Twi'Lek peasant whimpered and raised bloodshot eyes to stare at him in terror.

"Misanu, nerra…" Kenobi muttered, in the aged one's native tongue. His eyes were closed, faint lines of concentration creasing his forehead.

The Twi'Lek, perceiving his chance at freedom, started up in a rush of panicked adrenaline, and crawled on trembling hands and knees toward the doorframe. The trance broke. The Jedi's eyes snapped open, and he shouted out.

"Nu, nu, misanu-ta! Nu!"

Dooku watched the pathetic, shivering figure stumble its way into the antechamber, where the two droid guards kept their perpetual vigil. Dooku lazily extended a hand and then closed his fingers. The Force closed around the old man's throat, lifting him slowly into the air, his skinny legs flailing as he lost purchase, his eyes wild with terror.

And then he snapped his wrist. Kenobi actually gasped in pain as the old Twi'Lek's corpse dropped in a tangled heap to the flooring. Dooku casually waved his hand, sending the body slamming into the wall of the cell, where it slumped against the wall, limp and broken. One of the droids moved forward to drag it away, but Dooku sent the guard back to its post with a short gesture. Better to leave the spectacle where it was, to allow the Jedi some opportunity for reflection. There wouldn't be much of a stink; the temperature was too low for that.

"Next time I bring you a cellmate," he informed his prisoner, "You would do better not to interfere." Kenobi's expression was locked down, now. Not a flicker of emotion or thought visible anywhere, even in the Force. But Dooku knew better. On the way back past the magna-guards, he felt an irrational pity. The poor things must be growing quite bored.

"Teach him a lesson," he commanded, and swept away.

* * *

><p>Anakin balled his fists in his dark cloak and breathed through the unexpected waves of vertigo and pain. He was half-crouched over the console of Mina's grain transport, his face white. Hold on, master, hold on. Show me something. Anything.<p>

_Nothing but cold, and pain, and sorrow. And more cold. And more pain. And something sliding dangerously at the bottom of his mind. That was anger, a serpent waiting to escape, to strike out. He struggled to watch it, to keep it under his eye. One move and he would crush its head. Anger was the true enemy. Cold and pain and sorrow were far better than letting the evil serpent escape and strike out…_

No, master. Wake up. Look around. Where are you? Tell me, show me. Come on.

_There wasn't much to look at. It all shimmered slightly, obscured by the haze of the containment field. Same patch of hard stone floor, same stains and cracks upon it. A red blear of energy field at the entrance. And in the corner, there, the crumpled body of the Twi'Lek. His lekku splayed out and pooled around his head. His rags clung to his sunken flesh. He did not move. And he had not been able to do a thing to stop the innocent's death. Nothing. There was the serpent, sliding again, looking for a chance to strike. It left a searing trail where it slithered. No. Anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. Must not let the serpent free…_

_The magnaguards conferred briefly, in their warbling electronic language. Then they turned back to him again, apparently not yet satisfied, electrostaffs raised and crackling with blue fire…_

The vision shattered into black and scarlet, and Anakin straightened up with a gasp.

"Master Skywalker….is there anything we can do to help?"

That was Aidos Yi-yo, one of Mina's young volunteers. He was a skinny human of no more than fifteen. He must have left the Temple less than two years ago. Vaguely, he wondered whether Snips had known him…"Yes, there is. Where do Twi'Leks live in this sector?"

Aidos shrugged. "Where _don't _Twi'Leks live?" He looked at Anakin with wide brown eyes, hero worship written in their glowing depths.

_I'm a celebrity. _He had always dreamed of fame, of being the most famous podracer in the galaxy. Now he was a person at whom a _Jedi _would gape in awe. "Look," he said impatiently, pushing the unsettling realization to the side. "I need to find a planet inhabited by Twi'Leks, currently under Separatist occupation, and chock full of Chrodisian granite. Can you figure that out for me?"

Aidos swallowed and nodded. "I'll ask Pheru to help. He's good with databases, things like that."

"I am also good at sensing when my name is a topic of discussion," the silver haired Ag-Corps worker added, appearing behind them in the cockpit's aft passenger compartment. "And I don't need a database for this one. That's Xermes. I spent ten years there, assignment before last. But it's a huge planet, friend. You'll be looking for a long time."

Anakin settled his mouth into a hard line. "I don't have a long time. We'll find a way."

He punched the request into the nav-computer and waited for a confirmation. Slowly the decrepit system ground its way into life and loaded the hyperspace course. One by one, the ready lights blinked on. Anakin waited like a colwar set to pounce, and then threw the juddering freighter headlong past lightspeed.

* * *

><p>Dooku hummed the <em>Triumphante<em> aria from his favorite Serrenoan opera. The moment of whimsy quickly dissipated, however. He mustn't allow himself to feel a childish sense of delight simply because he was so close to victory, to that sweet moment when he could report to Lord Sidious that he had succeeded in his commission. To falter, even in the last seconds, could often mean an unexpected defeat. His mind drifted back to that unpleasant duel in the cave on Geonosis. He had hesitated a fraction of a second then, when he had the injured Kenobi curled in agony at his feet. And that second's hesitation had granted the boy Skywalker the heartbeat's time he needed to leap across the space, blocking a certain death blow to his master. And the ensuing second duel had granted Yoda, the revolting little troll, the time he needed to arrive and intervene on behalf of both master and apprentice. Dooku regretted that moment's pause. It had been born of sentiment, he felt sure. A feeble reluctance to kill his Padawan's Padawan. As though such things mattered.

No, this time he would not hesitate. He must strike without hesitation, and above all without pity. He steeled his resolve and made his way down to the detention level once more.

Thankfully, the Jedi was by now too exhausted to speak. But Dooku felt the customary insult hurled at him through the Force: _Traitor._

Dooku nudged a toe against the dead Twi'Lek's skull. "Hm," he sighed. "Rather a pathetic life form, if I may say so. Hardly one worth expending all that energy upon – and in the end, you only delayed the inevitable." He waited to be sure Kenobi was listening.

"That is what your whole Jedi life reduces to….a painful expenditure of blood and sweat and tears, which only serves in the end to delay the inevitable. Really, you would do better to accept Fate. The Dark will prevail in the end, and all your struggles will amount to nothing."

_Liar, _came the weary reply, a disgusted ripple in the Force. Dooku stepped closer to the containment field. Kenobi could barely hold his head upright, and glowered at him from under lowered brows. Dooku grinned back, mirthlessly. "I must say, you are a slow learner, much like that brat Skywalker of yours. Such obtuseness…it must have driven poor Qui Gon mad." He completed his well-trodden path around the edge of the curved room and halted in front of the Jedi again. "However…I promised you a more complete education. Let us start with a lesson in _acceptance."_

On his cue, the waiting droids dragged in the new captives: six small children kidnapped from the local village. Their large eyes were dilated in terror, their puny limbs trembling. Not one of them was more than four or five standard years old.

"Behold," Dooku said, as the captives were herded into the freezing chamber and forced down against the far wall. "Here are your new companions. I shall return in one more planetary rotation. Your task, Master Kenobi, is to cease your futile rebellion against destiny. These children are doomed to die. If I return to find them still living, due to your interference, then I shall kill them myself. " He withdrew Kenobi's lightsaber from his sash and lifted it before the Jedi's eyes. "With _this."_

Oh, he was tempted to hum that exquisite aria once more. Music filled his soul as the Jedi drowned in boundless outrage. The Force was set alight with horror, and Dooku knew that he had not missed his mark this time. No, he had once more demonstrated the unquestionable superiority of old age and treachery.

"Until tomorrow," he smiled, and withdrew.


	6. Chapter 6

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>6.<strong>

Xermes was ugly.

Not that he would say that to any of the six Ag-Corps members clustered in the freighter's passenger hold. But it was an ugly planet, and he, Anakin, was entitled to his opinion. Flat plateaus of rock scarred by deep gorges. Shallow, grey-hued seas hugging the ragged coastlines. Everything built of stone, the forests and plains studded with hard-edged, stony-looking plants. They skimmed along the northern continent, above the equator, scanning for settlements. There were many, all of them small and poor and uninteresting. Twi'Lek colonies – not his thing. More ObiWan's. His master had always held a peculiar fascination with the culture. He even liked their moldy food.

"Can we help?" Mina asked, for the hundredth time. "Do you have a biosignature?"

"The prison will be shielded," Anakin explained. These people had no idea what they were up against.

"But you can feel your friend in the Force?" she pressed on. "We can help you. We will lend our strength to your meditation."

Anakin balked at the idea. He did not engage in any kind of communal meditation unless someone held a lightsaber to his throat. He was allergic to it, to the strange intensity, to the feeling of being transparent. He didn't like the touch of other minds so close to his own. He didn't like the way the Force wove him into a larger pattern, one he could not master and control. It made him feel helpless, trapped.

But this was desperate. "Thank you," he said gruffly.

This time, kneeling on the ship's deck with Mina and her eager friends clustered around him, a ring of gentle power, it was easier to find Obi Wan. The images poured into him, unabated, and stinging in their clarity.

_He was like a sieve now. The Force poured through him, a torrent of light – but he could hold back not the smallest drop for himself. His every cell burned – for want of heat, want of food, want of oxygen, want of rest. And he hadn't the strength to hold onto any part of the light that channeled its way through him. It pooled and overflowed, like water running between limp fingers too weak to drink. He didn't have much time – this sensation was like the mad rush of sand in an hourglass as the last grains fell forward into oblivion. But while he breathed, he would not abandon the six tiny lives in his care. He alone stood between them and a lingering death of cold suffocation. Only his presence, letting the light pour through him and around them, a protective barrier, could keep them safe._

_It hurt to be so …broken. So full of holes, and rips and tears and aching gaps, where the light poured through without filling him. But it was not so bad as emptiness. He had felt that before. This was an emptiness, too, for he could hold nothing. But not like that other…that other which Dooku must hear howling in his heart every night._

_Oddly enough, parts of his mind were pouring out through the gaps, too. He really could hold nothing. His awareness slipped past his own memory and confused itself with the childrens' bright perceptions. For a moment he was not a Jedi anymore. He was a little boy dancing in a village square, all the adults keeping time with hands and drums and chanting. And then he was sleeping in a wood of stumpy trees, gazing up at unfamiliar constellations. And then he was nestled against a mother's breast, holding tight to her lekku as she rocked him to sleep before a fire. And then he was running in a fierce race against his friends, toward a distant rock formation, one shaped like a draigon's head. And then he was squabbling over some favorite toy with a much older sister, whom he bit with sharp teeth. And then he was staring up at himself, from behind another's eyes. He was suspended in a weird, pulsing field of light. And he looked haggard, sick, beaten thin._

Anakin broke the connection himself. He had seen and felt enough. So help him, when he found Dooku, there would be the hells to pay.

"Master Skywalker?" Aidos asked, brown eyes wide and eager. "DO you know where..?"

Anakin was already at the helm, pulling the heavy freighter out of orbit and plummeting in a tight dive toward the place which now called him like a beacon light.

* * *

><p>The children began to tire. Not the exhaustion of impending death – that all belonged to him. They were simply empty, too numb from the day's inexplicable and terrifying events to remain conscious any longer.<p>

It was so easy to nudge them into slumber. The Force was pouring through him so readily, so abundantly. One by one the small bodies drooped, curled, slid sideways against each other and slept. He wrapped each one in a cocoon of warmth, of life. He had an infinite bounty to give away…his own was rapidly overflowing the bounds of his body, returning to its ethereal source. He had more than enough to share, until Dooku returned.

Beyond that point he couldn't think. The Force whispered to him that he did not have to think beyond that point, and he nodded, weakly, obediently. The horizon drew so near, so starkly near, that he was simply surprised by it. What had always appeared to his imagination as a vast edge, dropping off into oblivion, now appeared little more than a veil, the thinnest of barriers through which he might pass as light passes through translucent crystal. Death, at such close range, did not appear awful or difficult at all.

It might even be…gentle. Joyful.

"Nerra?" a tiny voice peeped.

One of the children alone remained awake. The smallest girl, so tiny and so bright in the Force…she alone resisted his suggestion. He lifted his head to have a good look at her, grunting with the effort of it. The shimmering energy barrier wobbled, grew black at the edges. The room tilted to one side, then the other, then righted itself. Odd.

"Nerra? Du-une ma nesore," the little thing lisped at him. _What are you thinking about?_

She was so bright….he choked on sudden realization. Force sensitive. Cruel, cruel, cruel. Had Dooku known? He heard a hoarse sobbing sound, a rasp of anguish. Dully, he looked for the source….only to realize that the noise had issued from his own throat. _Oh stars…_

"Misanu, misanu," the child soothed. Her liquid eyes studied him very carefully, seeing too much. Likely feeling too much. Tears were beginning to dribble down her face.

"Nu- misanu te," he told her, swallowing. He dredged strength out of thin air, out of nowhere, to speak. She was the child here. He should be comforting her. "Misanu ah liali nama."

She sat down, at his feet or as close as she could come without impinging on the containment field, and stared up at him expectantly, waiting for the story to begin. She dragged one hand across her eyes and cheeks, smearing the moisture away. Her filthy knees were pulled up against her chest. The ragged hem of her garment hung in delicate shreds. He was fascinated by it…the unraveling threads mirrored his own spirit…echoed within, down the corridors of memory.

The expectation in her face was so like Anakin's, when he had looked up at him after the funeral on Naboo.

Her filthy face, with its upturned nose, and her gangly limbs – all bone and tendon, no real muscle yet – were so like Anakin's when they had met aboard the royal yacht.

The tear streaks tracking down her cheeks and making her wide eyes shine were so familiar, too….and that invisible corona of light in the Force, the shimmering aura around her fragile body…and the sensation of being seen and seen-through at once, by a mind that knew only frank curiosity, and had little regard for protocol.

The knowledge that this child was in his hands, against tremendous odds – that was familiar too. The dread of failure was familiar. The sense of impotence, of incapacity, of unworthiness, of being doomed and damned by the expectation – that was familiar too, even if he seldom visited that bleak place.

"Liali nama," the child insisted, almost petulant.

_Oh, Force. _His Twi'Lek wasn't _that_ good. And besides, he could barely _think._ "A story," he began in Basic, speech as diffciult as a demanding kata. "Yes…ah…listen. I'll tell you about a place I went with Qui Gon Jinn, once. A long time ago. It was beautiful." The phrases escaped him awkwardly, in a whisper.

She hugged her knees contentedly, not seeming to care that the words were foreign, meaningless. Likely enough she could see the images forming in his memory and imagination through the Force. Or perhaps she simply enjoyed the broken cadence of his voice, so unfamiliar to his own ears. In any case, the recollection distracted him even as he poured the last of his strength into keeping her companions alive.

"It was beautiful," he continued, haltingly, for her sake. "There were…moths, I think. They... glowed in the night. I thought they looked like stars…."

* * *

><p>"This is the place?" Mina Telluvi enquired. They sat a short distance outside the fortress – a massive pile of Chrodisian granite, an obscene finger thrust up out of the parched and cracking earth. The main gates were a single slab of durasteel, as thick as a wall, decorated with a harsh geometrical pattern. Battle droids patrolled the ramparts. Whomever this had originally belonged to, it was the Separatists' now.<p>

"Yeah," Anakin answered. The sun was clawing its dull red way over the horizon, the distant ridge of mountains or cliffs reaching out shadows to encompass them in a shrouding fist of grey. The fortress was cast in darkness on this side, the first rays of light glancing painfully about its silhouette.

Beside him, Artoo let out a long, moaning whistle.

"I know, buddy." He looked at the Ag-Corps workers clustered in the ship behind him. What possible use they thought they could be, he couldn't imagine. None of them were warriors. None of them had a fraction of his grasp of the Force. None of _them_ could feel Obi Wan _dying_ inside the slab of rock which squatted, immobile and self-satisfied before them. This was up to him. "Stay well behind me," he ordered. "I'll have to deal with plenty of security, if I know anything about Dooku."

"And what is your plan?" the Ag Corps' leader asked.

Plan? "Get in, get down to the detention level, get out. Direct path," he supplied, on the spur of the moment.

Artoo cheered him on, but the Ag Corps people did not look impressed.

"This isn't _crop dusting_," he snarled at them, storming down the boarding ramp of the freighter. He did have to admit that the landing clearance granted them as a supply line vessel had come in handy. Without Mina's transport, it was doubtful he could have come so far without detection. But this was different. This was where the game of hide and seek ended, and the moment of reckoning began. He could smell Dooku in there, too – and if there was one thing he wanted more than to rescue his master, it was to kill the person responsible for this whole mess.

If the Force really loved him as much as they said it did, then he would get a chance to do both.

"Stay with the ship, Artoo," he ordered, over his shoulder, perceiving the little astromech making a bold attempt to roll along at his heels. "We might need to get out of here in a hot hurry."

He ignored the mournful bleep directed at his back.

_Here I come, master. Here I come, Dooku._ The Force roiled and blackened about him as he approached the gates, as droids rushed to challenge him, as destruction blazed around him, molten hot, burning with tangled rage and fear.


	7. Chapter 7

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>7.<strong>

Dooku's boots gently slapped against the shallow steps. He reached the end of the sloped passage and turned left. The droids on duty saluted him with their staves. Now for the moment of truth.

His hand strayed to the control panel, and the energy field dissipated. Air rushed past him, and a cold draft whipped at the hem of his cloak. He peered round the threshold. There were the Twi'Lek younglings, huddled together. Asleep. Not dead, not dying. Just…asleep. As though they were comfortably ensconced before a hearth fire. He could almost feel the ethereal warmth caressing their tiny bodies.

With a snarl, he turned to his prisoner. There had been no greeting this time, no impudent challenge flung in his face. Kenobi's eyes flickered open, dully registering his presence. A moment passed in silence. Then the Jedi tilted his chin up, the subtlest of motions, and the shadow of a smile crossed his features. It was the most understated, ephemeral gesture imaginable – and yet it somehow conveyed immense, unquelled defiance.

Dooku felt a quiver of rage. Such _insolence. _Such brazen disobedience. His eyes strayed to the Twi"lek children, so tenderly preserved from harm, despite his clear warning of the consequence. He hit the containment field release trigger.

"I see that you failed to learn acceptance," he said, as Kenobi fell listlessly to the hard stone floor. Dooku shoved a foot under the Jedi's shoulders and rolled him over onto his back. The Twi"leks began to stir and cry, their sheltering light at last fading to admit cold and fear.

The prisoner held Dooku's sardonic gaze with unflinching calm. His lips formed a soundless word. _Traitor. _

The Count shook his head ruefully. "I warned you, did I not, that such actions would still lead to failure." He withdrew the Jedi's lightsaber from his sash and flicked its blade into life. It hummed loudly, casting vibrant blue shadows across the ceiling. He spun it about in a traditional flourish and then brought the tip close to Kenobi's throat. The Jedi watched him contemptuously, even nudging his head to the side to bare the flesh further. Fearless.

Then Dooku felt it, that signature presence, like a thunderstorm gathering on the horizon. _Skywalker. _Time to finish his business here, quickly. "You tried to save these younglings," he said. "But you have only chosen the _means_ of their demise." He raised the saber's thrumming blue blade again, meaningfully, and advanced upon the Twi"leks crouching against the wall in abject terror.

He raised the blade over the nearest – a cringing toddler girl, headtails filthy and feet bare and muddy – and swung. Kenobi shouted out as though the blow had carved through his own chest. Malice singing an anthem inside him, Dooku took a stride back to the Jedi and looked down on him from above. Oh yes…this was sweet. In opening a Force connection with the sniveling little curs, the Jedi had laid himself open to the most devastating empathetic possibilities. Dooku held the blue blade at his side, enjoying the sight of his enemy finally…breaking.

First the walls of stubborn reserve broke. No more cool detachment, no more ironic jibes. The Force was _bleeding _with anguish. It showed in every line of the Jedi's face, it echoed in every line of his rigid sprawl . Then the voice broke. "_Traitor!"_ Kenobi screamed, raw emotion giving the single word a vast, damning eloquence. Then the self-control, the famous Jedi self-control, broke. Dooku felt himself thrown, with a breathtaking power, into the opposite wall. He slammed into the frozen stone, winded and shocked. For the wave of power had been one stained with rage and pain and grief.

The fallen lightsaber skidded across the cold floor into Kenobi's outstretched hand. Trembling violently, borrowed fire running hot in his veins, the broken Jedi staggered to his feet and advanced upon his captor.

The Dark rose up between them, a ready tool. And Dooku knew in that moment that it was a wild, untamed thing, and had no special loyalty to him.

* * *

><p>Anakin felt it.<p>

He felt it, and it chilled his bones. It drove every other thought out of his mind, every other memory. He no longer doubted whether this squat fortress built into the cliffside were the place. He no longer wondered whether Dooku had sensed his arrival. He no longer was aware of Mina and Aidos and the others trailing behind him, eager to act on his orders. He was no longer aware of anything but that heart-stopping howl of pain and the explosion of darkness that followed. He had never, never, felt such a thing from Obi Wan before….

He pelted down a flight of steps, and landed face to face with two magna-guards. They sprang at him without hesitation, and he fell upon them like a lightning storm. Blue fire danced around him in a sphere, a blazing wrath, Metallic arms, legs, heads, weapons – all spun out and scattered in wild abandon, a fireworks display of droid parts flinging into walls and floors, bouncing off the doorframe and rolling across the threshold.

"Master!" he cried out, launching forward.

Two more magna-guards appeared from a side corridor, rushing him with electrosatves whirling and sizzling. He blocked, parried, ducked, evaded, shouted in frustration.

Between the furious blows of his own battle, caught in fleeting glances, he could see the battle raging in the room beyond. He saw his master summon a saber hilt off the floor, saw the blue blade snap back to life. Saw Dooku's answering red blade flash and strike, a serpent ready to kill. The Force thundered, dark, ominous – oppressive with hatred, with two hatreds clashing together.

Anakin beheaded one of the droids. He pivoted to face the last, putting his back to the battle behind him. He felt the increasing desperation of the duel, felt the struggle of wills. He could smell ozone, burnt cloth, molten rock. The acrid scent when the blades locked for more than a half-second. There was a terrible surge of anger, and the thunder rolling in the Force seemed to swell into physical sound. Anakin clove his foe in two, slicing through the top of its head down to its torso, and tossed the pieces to each side.

He sprang into the doorframe and halted in shock.

* * *

><p>Dooku gasped, unable to move, held pinned against the wall of the freezing-cold cell by his foe's invisible and merciless Force grip. His seared fingers dropped the hilt of his weapon. His eyes widened, feeling the stunning jolt of the last blow, the arrow of shattered light slamming into his own center, tearing his thundercloud into wispy fragments. Such <em>power…<em> He knew he had made a mistake. His master had told him to break the Jedi. Had not another master, Thame Cerulean, warned him of this a lifetime ago_?_

_There are many things which one should not break, Padawan. A lightsaber crystal is among them. One crack and you will unleash destruction upon yourself._

He had done as Sidious wished – but this was a lightsaber crystal he had cracked. Had Sidious known? Had he intended Dooku's demise? Was it all to end here? Kenobi's blade was hovering a mere centimeter from his breast. One thrust and he would feel that blue line pierce through his heart. In the Jedi's eyes there was nothing but cold fire.

And then, from the doorway, a cry of utter shock. "Master!"

Skywalker's voice. Dooku knew it all too well. And by some twisted fate, some awful mocking mercy, the Force spared Dooku. Kenobi's eyes changed. There was a moment's awful realization dawning behind them….and then release. Kenobi released the Dark, released anger, released Dooku, released his hold on the saber hilt. The weapon clattered to the floor, Dooku slumped against the wall, gasping in a painful breath. Kenobi's face went white as he released his last impossible strength, his last anchor to consciousness.

"Go…" he whispered. "…._Traitor." _And then his knees buckled and he was sliding to the floor, too.

But there was still Skywalker to deal with. And beyond him, Dooku sensed _six _other Force presences approaching. Six. They had sent _seven_Jedi to rescue Kenobi? Stars… The boy was already leaping over his master's body toward Dooku. Skywalker he would like to kill, but seven was too many for him, at this moment. The Count seized the fragile stone of the ceiling, reaching into the Dark, where stone was nought but dust, and dragged them down in a ear-splitting cascade, collapsing the roof upon Skywalker, Kenobi, and the pitiful Twi"lek children balled and shuddering in the corner.

And he leapt through the gap overhead, as destruction rained down below.

* * *

><p>Anakin held the stones aloft, and his mind and body screamed. The Force surged through him, too powerful to contain, like a river over-flowing its banks and violently flooding over the countryside. He caught the entire roof, every slab, every pebble, every grian of dust, and held it aloft, his hatred for Dooku roaring loud in his ears, drumming a frantic war cry.<p>

_I will kill you, Dooku. I swear it. I swear it. _He threw the stones to one side, yelling with the effort. Sickly light streamed form above. The Twi'Lek children broke into hysterical sobs, shrieking bits of their native language. Anakin didn't know any Twi'Lek. He scrambled forward to Obi Wan, gripped his shoulders, turned him over.

"Master!" No answer. "_Master!"_

Mina and her friends came running, skidding to a halt inside the cell's doorway.

"Children!" one of them said.

"It's _freezing._ We need to get them away."

"What if there are more droids?"

"Master Skywalker. Is your friend…?"

Anakin watched his own breath cloud in the too-cold air. His master looked awful. _I will kill you, Dooku. I will do it myself. I swear it. I swear it by the Force._

"Master Skywalker," Mina warned. "Aidos, you others. Get the children." She leaned down to scoop up the small body of the one Dooku had slain, wrapping it sadly in her own arms. Her assistants each took hold of a remaining child, murmuring comfort.

Anakin had no words of comfort to murmur. _I will KILL you, Dooku. _His arms shook with rage as he lifted Obi Wan over his shoulders and stood, groaning under the added weight. He looked at Mina and the Ag-Corps staff. Each one of them carried a burden now – a child, or a child's body…or a broken Jedi. There were more droids. There was security. The trek back to the ship was dangerous. His heart sank.

_We're not getting away this time._

"We can help," Mina said, reading his thought. Or his emotion. "We are not fighters, but we have other skills."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Aidos grinned. Pheru grinned. "We can make ourselves invisible," the older man said.

Anakin paused. _Force shielding? On such a…massive scale? _

Mina stepped forward, into the antechamber. "Come. I will lead the way."

It was a weird procession. Anakin could feel the net of subtle light cast over himself and his companions, an invisible cloak woven by their linked minds. A subtle, elusive fabric which seemed to blur them into their surroundings, erase their signatures, make them walk unnoticed like ghosts through the corridors. In absolute silence they marched, each member of the solemn parade carrying his or her burden, Mina in the lead, Anakin drawing up the rear. Droid sentries did not see them. Sensors did not stir. Guards did not challenge them. The freighter sat upon its moorings, and they entered in silent, near disbelieving relief.

When they had reached the interior, Anakin bowed deeply to both of them. "I …am humbled, my masters," he said.

Mina only smiled. "Come, let us see to your friend. Aidos can pilot us out."


	8. Chapter 8

**Broken Cadence**

* * *

><p><strong>8.<strong>

Mina Telluvi's team was well-trained. She and Pheru, and Aidos too, were Jedi - after a fashion. They had been raised to discipline. And her other staff were brave and true, reliable to a fault. It was a simple matter to divide the labor. Young Aidos she put in charge of the piloting; he was competent, and it kept him out of the way. Solmi she assigned the task of navigation. Three others she left in the cargo hold with the Twi'Lek children. There was little in the way of comfort aboard the vessel, but they did their best. They would have to be cared for until they coudl be returned to their homes. Pheru she summoned to her own aid, in caring for the injured Jedi.

Master Skywalker was the only one over whom she had no authority, and whom she could not rein into any useful task. He stood in a corner of the passenger cabin, locked in rage and fear, tied so tightly in their constricting bonds that he could neither speak nor move. Mina and Pheru exchanged a meaningful look, set to work without him. They stripped off sweat-drenched , soiled clothing, cleaned the injured man up, wrapped him in every blanket they could spare from the emergency closet. Neither of them was a healer, and they had little to work with.

"Master Skywalker," Mina said at last, snapping upright. "Your _help,_ please."

"I'm not a healer," the tall, dark haired Jedi choked out. "I can't ...fix _people_. I can't. " His chest heaved.

Again, she looked at Pheru. Such emotion was not displayed even among her people. In a Knight of the Temple, it was...disturbing. Pheru's brows drew together in concern.

"That kriffing bastard _got away,_" Skywalker snarled, turning his back to them. At his side, the black-gloved prosthesis clenched. The cabin lighting flickered ominously.

"Skywalker!" Pheru barked. "Control yourself!"

The young man was terrifying. He wheeled about, and they cringed; but Mina saw the unshed tears trembling in the corners of his eyes. She felt overwhelming pity; but also dread. This one, she felt sure, should not have been trained. He should not be bearing the saber. Something was very, very wrong. She suddenly wished to reach Republic space, make their rendezvous with the promised cruiser, and be done with this wrathful, fearful man forever. But she said none of these things aloud, and shielded the thought even from Pheru.

"We need your help," she insisted. "Your friend - you have a bond with him. He needs to be in a healing trance until we reach your people. "

Reluctantly, Skywalker tamped down some of his startling, untamed passion. He did not conquer or release it...but he made space. A shelter. He nodded, and took a few stiff steps forward. Mina took his hands, the flesh one and the metal one, between her sunburned and calloused ones. She pried apart the cold fists of battle and vengeance and smoothed the fingers open, gently pulled them onto his friend's face and chest, pressed them into place, into the work of healing.

He relaxed, and allowed her to guide him. Mina had the wisdom to ignore the two wet trails which slithered down his cheeks.

* * *

><p>Lord Sidious' eyes were awful. They gleamed from under the hood, coals wreathed in shadow. Dooku trembled, his innards melting. If only this interview could have been via hologram…but Sidious demanded that reports of failure be made in person.<p>

"So you…failed to break him," Sidious muttered.

"My lord." Dooku calmed his racing pulse. "I did not entirely fail. There was a moment…"

But the lord held up a hand for silence. "Tell me, did Skywalker see this?"

Dooku bowed his head lower. He did not know what the correct answer might be. His life hung in the balance, he knew. But there was no use in lying to Sidious. Deception was as native to him as blood and breath. He was its master, and it fawned over him, told him others' secrets. There was no lie which could save him.

"Yes, my master," Dooku admitted, cold misery clamping down on his heart.

A second of thought. Dooku felt death light on his head, caress his silver hair. …but then Sidious laughed, a chuckle edged with cruel serrated bitterness. "You amuse me, my apprentice," he sneered. "Your failure will still serve our grand purpose."

"Yes, my lord."

His master did not elaborate, and Dooku knew better than to ask. He felt like a child which has burned itself playing with a dangerous toy. He felt that Sidious had enjoyed seeing him burnt. He felt a cold suspicion slide in his belly. Had he been…_used?_ Had this been an experiment? A trial run? A way of testing the waters?

"Now we must discuss your punishment. "

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

><p>"Yes, Master Windu."<p>

Anakin wasn't stupid. He knew exactly how careful he needed to be with the Jedi Council. Mace Windu's flickering holo-image steepled its fingers. Beside him, Yoda leaned on his gimer stick, gimlet eyes boring into the young Knight.

"Grateful, we are," the diminutive master rasped, "That save Obi-Wan you did."

Anakin's heart warmed a little. Yoda never spared him much love, but when it came to his former master….sometimes he was able to bask in the overflow of Yoda's affection. Which didn't officially exist, on the record.

"However, that does not change the question at hand," Windu interjected sternly. "We are discussing a major breach of discipline."

"Yes, Master Windu."

"You do not sound very contrite, Skywalker," the dark Jedi master growled, a thin note of impatience echoing in his deep baritone.

"Forgive me, master. I will accept the Council's judgement on this matter."

"I hope so," Windu said drily, clearly not satisfied.

"Accompany Obi Wan back to Coruscant, you will," Yoda commanded. "A Padawan have you left behind here, and other duties as well."

"Yes, master Yoda."

The tiny green Jedi master looked up at him. "And discuss your actions further we shall, then. Hmmmph."

Anakin bowed. "Yes, master."

At last the conference was ended. His report given, his good news shared, his gross disobedience dissected and examined and lamented over. All done. Released at last, he hurried out of the comm. station and back through the cruiser's plastoid hallways to the sick bay.

Obi Wan was asleep. Probably a good thing, since the efficient clone medics had strapped him to a biomonitor, a nutrient IV drip, a therm stabilizer, and a bunch of other stuff Anakin didn't care to think about. His master would have a tantrum like a shaved Wookie when he woke to all this fuss and bother and invasion of privacy. Chuckling at the thought, Anakin touched a finger to his mentor's shoulder, just brushing against him with the Force. Checking. He had been searching for his friend this way for so many days that it felt odd not to do so now. He closed his eyes…careful not to disturb the fragile spell of sleep…

_A sky full of stars, woven together in a bright white band. The galaxy's rim, seen from this position, was a soft robe draped across the sky. The crater valley's walls rose gently on all sides. Water flowed, plants unfurled in the dusk, insects flittered, glowing like stars. The Force sang deeply, sweetly, in low, multi-hued harmonies. Warmth floated up from the rock beneath him, and he held the tiny Twi'lek girl against his chest. Teaching her the names of all the things they could see, Star. Flower. Tree. River. Rock. Moth. Beautiful moth. The girl laughed and clapped. The moths began to descend, one by one, landing on their faces and shoulders like drifting leaves. The girl was very wise…she did not attempt to touch. Soon they were covered in beautiful stars, stars with wings…_

Anakin withdrew. He had no idea what planet that was…but he could sense the pang of a cherished memory in its every detail. The girl in the dream was the one Dooku had murdered. He smiled, wondering if he had inadvertently discovered Obi Wan's "happy place." Then he felt a tug of sadness. There was no happy place in this galaxy anymore, for anyone. _I will kill you, Dooku. I swear it._

The vehemence of his oath must have left a ripple in the Force. The sleeping Jedi awoke, eyes squinting at first against the light of the dimmed illumination panels.

"Anakin?" he said, half-bemused.

"That's _seven,_ master. Seven times I've had to rescue you."

Obi Wan shook his head, a tiny movement. "Six. Only six," he insisted weakly.

"No, master. Seven. You really _owe _me."

"A lecture on humility," Obi Wan muttered, managing to raise his eyebrows.

A pause. Obi Wan frowned, thinking back through the blur of days. A thought seemed to strike him. "Who sent you? I didn't have time to contact the-"

"Nobody."

"Oh…Anakin."

"Sorry, master. I'll sort it out with the Council later. Meantime, let's not discuss it. You're supposed to be resting."

Too late. Obi Wan was stirring now, and he had discovered the various tubes and wires. "What in the blazes….Oh, for Force's sake. Anakin. Help me take this _chizzsk _out."

"No. Stop that," Anakin scolded, catching his friend's wrists and holding them. "You are going to get Captain Skarr in trouble. He's the medic."

"Scar?" Obi Wan repeated, ironic. "Lovely."

"Seriously, master. Please. Just…relax. We're on our way back to the Temple. Can you save the tantrum for Vokara Che, please? She'll appreciate it. I bet she misses you. It's been a while."

Obi Wan surrendered, less than graciously. He relaxed – and then he shot up again, sitting bolt upright. "The Twi'Lek children. Anakin, there were younglings. Where are they?"

"Calm down. Please, master." He pushed him back against the mattress. "They're fine.. Mina Telluvi – she's with the Ag-Corps – she's going to see that they are returned to their families, or fostered out if they're orphans. They'll be all right."

"Except the girl," Obi Wan said, flatly.

Anakin bowed his head. He had no words of comfort. _I will kill you Dooku. I swear it._

"Anakin."

He looked into Obi Wan's face. "I am, master. I'm going to kill him."

"Not in anger, Anakin."

"But…." Sudden comprehension dawned. "Why didn't you kill him, master? I saw you. You could have. You could have ended this war. You could have saved every person Dooku has yet to murder. Why didn't you do it?"

"Not in anger." Obi Wan was exhausted, starting to drift off again.

"I swear to you, master –"

"No! Anakin….listen….Dooku is a broken Jedi. If he dies, it cannot be at the cost of another Jedi breaking. Promise me."

"What? Master…."

"Just promise me."

Anakin twisted his hands together, the human one and the prothesis which replaced the one Dooku had severed. All he could promise was that Dooku would die. And he would be the one to do it. Forgiveness...mercy...those were things he didn't want to understand….he didn't want to think about it. "Whatever you say, Master Kenobi," he smiled, making light of the moment. "Go back to sleep."

Obi Wan was too tired to notice his evasion. He nodded, eyes slipping closed. "Whatever you say, Master Skywalker."

Anakin watched him for a few more minutes, to be sure he was really and truly asleep once more. He clenched his fist. Nobody here was broken beyond repair. And he would not break his oath.

_I will kill you Dooku. I swear it. I will BREAK you._

**Finis**


End file.
